


into a habit | d.d.

by propertyofdindjarin



Series: din djarin drabbles+ [13]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Banter, But it's not that graphic, Enemies to Lovers, Multi, No Gender Pronouns, aka murder, but really it's old friends-to-enemies-to-begruding allies-to-lovers, descriptions of canon-typical violence, dw, no y/n, ooc!mando, post-s1 and pre-s2, villain x hero cliches and what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propertyofdindjarin/pseuds/propertyofdindjarin
Summary: The Mandalorian is sent to a planet to cash in a bounty but arrives to see the dead bodies of his employers strewn across a ballroom. When he catches you at the scene not long after his arrival, he assumes you’re the killer but the conversation stops when a third party arrives. Inspiration by this post:x.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Series: din djarin drabbles+ [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785928
Kudos: 7





	into a habit | d.d.

**Author's Note:**

> [link to tumblr post](https://propertyofdindjarin.tumblr.com/post/645024889651314688/into-a-habit-dd)

He doesn’t know it yet, but bodies are piled from the entryway to the back of the room. The binary suns of this planet have set, so it’s practically pitch black in this massive ballroom, with only the tiny light of the moon to guide him as he walks down the hallway of this spacious manor. Strangely, there are no stars. 

Large gusts of wind are blowing in from several directions, so there must be windows ajar. Din squints, but his visor’s night vision mode doesn’t show him anything farther than half a meter ahead of him. Something crunches beneath the soles of Din’s shoes as he enters. When he glances down, he sees that it’s broken shards of transparisteel, signaling that this room has been disturbed. 

On reflex, Din’s hand whips out the blaster in his holster. He takes another careful step, but another substance crunches beneath his feet, and he thinks that it’s wood. Upon closer examination, he notices that the wood has come from table legs that have been broken off. Splinters are scattered across the floor, along with more transparisteel shards, and when he takes another step, a dark patch of liquid enters his vision. 

Din knows that a fight of some kind has occurred here, but his lack of vision and this trail of what seems to be blood aren’t calming his nerves. Although he tilts his head up and to the side, he can’t see anything. But when he looks down again, his heart jumps out of his chest. 

Half a dozen Imperial death troopers are lying before him, stacked like poker chips in an illegal casino on Coruscant. The shiny black armor is glinting, and for the first time in a long while, Din is shell-shocked by the skills of another warrior. He stands there for a moment. His mind wanders, wondering who could have done that. It’s then that he registers the light footsteps of someone creeping upon him. He smirks, knowing that they don’t know he’s aware of their appearance. 

Before they can make a move on him, Din rapidly turns around and shoots blankly into the open space. He can’t see who they are, but he might as well try to maim them. There is no response; a muffled groan or steps running away for Din to pinpoint where the person is now. He assumes that he’s missed and his mind races to figure out where the person is. Whoever they have probably killed the Imperial death troopers, and that’s no easy feat. Now that physically drawing out the enemy was rendered ineffective, it was time for Plan B, or to verbally draw them out.

“You killed them.” He says it slowly, with the precision of someone scanning every possible way to engage the enemy. Din listens for more footsteps, but can’t hear anything but his own breathing. 

All of a sudden, the blaster in his hand has been roughly kicked aside and Din’s on the floor, trapped under the momentum of a body on top of him. 

Straddling him, you say, “Pack it up, Mando.”

Even with the wind knocked out of him, Din registers the familiarity of your voice. His mind races, trying to figure out who exactly you are. Kriff, why can’t he think for Maker’s sake? He knows he’s met you before. But before he can figure it out, you beat him to it. 

The lights in the ballroom flicker on and it’s then that he sees your face. 

“Dank farrik [goddamnit], it’s you again,” he coughs out. The motion spikes the pain below his diaphragm more and he curses again, knowing it’ll take a hell of a long bacta session later in the Razor Crest.

“Happy to see me?” A delighted smirk inches its way on your face and he wants nothing more than to smack it off. He bites back a sigh but relaxes his body. He makes no move to escape your clutches and instead tilts his head sideways to stare at the scene to his left.

His eyes travel through the remains of a table to the center of the ballroom back to the bodies. To his surprise, there are much more than he initially thought. Not half a dozen, but over two dozen Imperial death troopers are scattered all around the room. There are no civilian bodies, though. He doesn’t know whether that’s a fact to be relieved at or fearful of. 

You catch on to what he’s looking at and roll your eyes.

Din catches the movement and mutters, “This was meant to be a dinner where I collected the check for my bounty.”

You scowl as you graze over the bodies that are sprawled all over the ballroom floor. “Me? I didn’t… I didn’t kill them. I thought you did.” A little white lie. You pause, then replace the scowl with a smirk as you say, “You know I can’t stand the sight of blood. Besides, it’s Imps that you’re working for now? Have you no loyalty?”

Din scoffs at the first statement but softens when he notices that your last doesn’t seem to be a lie. You have a reputation for murder, but it can’t possibly be you. If you had really killed them, you would have aimed for his jugular by now, not wanting to risk capture. Besides, he knows your tells. Well, it has been a hell of a long time since he’s last seen you, but he knows that you become physically defensive when you lie. 

To test it out, he asks, “You know my name yet?”

You harshly flick the center of his helmet and say, “Yes.”

Unbeknownst to both you and himself, he begins to smile. Time had barely changed you.

“The same as ever, eh?”

You shrug, then still for a moment while you deliberate what you’re going to say next. You shrug once again, pushing the mental what-ifs aside when you say, “Then why don’t we figure this out together, hm? If you’re so inclined to cooperate.” 

He gazed at your expectant figure and started to agree, but before he could get out a single word, the lights shut off again. This time, Din knew that there was no way that it was you, and chills ran up his spine. He didn’t like knowing that a third party had arrived. It was in the dark that both you and Din stiffened, knowing that somebody else would be dead by the time they turned back on.

///

“After last week’s near-death experience we’ve shared together, I’d say that you should be a lot happier to see me.”

“Shut up,” he says, then attempts a sloppy right hook at your head. 

Anyone would have seen it coming. It’s half-hearted and both of you know it. So it’s no shocker when you dodge it easily. 

You drawl, “You can do better than this. Come on.” You beckon in a come-hither motion.

“Shut up,” he repeats. He reaches out to grab your arm and pull you in a chokehold, but you dart backward and sidestep so that he has to pursue you. He knows what you’re doing. You’re refusing to fight him, trying to make him attack you, then use his momentum against him. But he’ll let it happen anyway. His legs lag, not moving as fast as he wants them to. He’s beyond tired; it’s been days of cat and dog, him tracking you down from planet to planet. 

“You lied to me.” He spits the phrase out as if it’s poison, then swings his fist out again. 

You think about saying you’re sorry but don’t. Instead, you say, “Sloppy again.”

His chest heaves and he can’t find it in himself to aim again, so he starts to run his mouth. “You promised,” he says, voice cracking even through the modulator. “You promised last week that you didn’t kill them—the kriffing Imps—and then you betrayed me. And now the rest of them are forcing me to–”

He cuts himself off, unable to verbalize who his new bounty is. Maker, he never does this with anyone but you. It’s always you that messes him up from the inside out, changing the way he functions to the point where he’s given up trying to understand why he’s so different around you. Why he talks so much, why he can’t seem to get himself to put any effort into hurting you. You’re egging him on, trying to get a reaction out of him, but he physically can’t do anything that would harm you. 

“It’s okay. Finish the job, Din.” Your voice is soft. Kriff, what would it be like when you’re not on the verge of murdering each other?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, whipping the blaster in his holster as far away from him as he can. He hasn’t used it once and wouldn’t use it again, but he wouldn’t put it past you to filch it from him.

“It’s not your choice.”

It’s at that moment that you know what has to happen. You change tactics, shifting your stance to be more offensive than defensive. A solid uppercut leaves the man in front of you reeling and it’s a desperate motion, but you turn to run to the edge of the rock foundation that this scene has been occurring. If he can’t do it, then you would. 

A blaster shot dents the side of the cliff. You curse, knowing that he’s realized what you’re trying to do. Before you know it, he’s tackled you to the ground. The landing impact cuts into your ribcage and the heavy beskar refuses to budge. You squirm and ball your hands into fists, pounding his back to get him to release you, but he doesn’t budge.

“No,” he snarls, then grabs your hands and pushes them against the ground to keep you from attacking him again.

“Let them take me in, then.”

“You and me both know that they’re going to torture you.”

“So what?” You’re laughing now and he scowls even more. 

“This is a life-or-death sit-”

Your knee crashes into his crotch. Involuntarily, he retracts his hands to protect his groin, and the positions are reversed, with you on top of him now. This time, your hands are preventing him from shifting.

Chest heaving, you say, “They’ll kill you if you don’t turn me in.”

“They won’t,” he says.

Your eyebrows contort. You press your lips into a fake, thin smile. “What,” a pathetic giggle escapes your mouth, “you’ll pay them off?”

His response is immediate. “Yes.”

“Din, you don’t have the credits.”

The smile on your face is a sad one and tears are beginning to blur your vision, but it’s alright. If you meet your end here, so be it. At least you’d die facing your first love.

“I’ll sell the remaining bacta on the ship,” he says.

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheek now. 

“Don’t cry, _cyar’ika_ [darling]. I’ll sell what’s left of the bacta and use the other tracking fobs I have to get bounties to pay for your freedom.”

Both of you know it wouldn’t be enough. 

“I’ll sell the ‘Crest, _cyar’ika_ [darling], and I swear it on the Maker.”

“They want me dead, Din. Credits won’t be enough. Keep your things, you need them.”

“I need you more.”

“Don’t sit here and lie to me, it’ll turn into a habit.”

“You’ve clearly given me no choice,” he says, eyes darting to how you’ve kept him hostage. Even this is a position that he can reverse with ease, but he wants you to be comfortable enough so you won’t see his last resort coming. 

It’s only when your forehead comes down to touch his that the situation becomes too different and so unfamiliar that he wonders if he’s dreaming this all along. You’re giving him a keldabe kiss, and he’s not sure whether it was by accident or not, but the motion is enough to freeze his body. And give you enough time to run.

Din jumps to go after you but finds that his hands are bound to a branch by the sleeves of your jacket. Maker, you had tied them during the keldabe kiss, hadn’t you? But his brows furrow. You had to have known that it wouldn’t stop him. And when he finally gets his hands out of the bind, he understands why.

You’ve run to the blaster that he’d thrown not long ago and pointed it at the side of your head. 

“Don’t!” He screams as if he’s in agony. He is, really. “There’s another way. There has to be. I can’t live without you, I love you.” It’s desperate and he doesn’t know if you heard it, but it’s true. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

A boom echoes throughout the cliffs as a TIE fighter enters the atmosphere. He stares at you, wondering why you haven’t reacted, then realizes. But it’s all too late. The pilot sends a blast of energy at him. Din collapses. The beskar had taken the brunt of the blast, but it had severely dented his chest piece, the momentum shoving him to the ground. 

“I was never working for them, was I?” he groans weakly.

You nod.

He hesitates for a moment, thinking back to the keldabe kiss. 

“Was everything an act?”

You ignore him, then beckon the TIE to land. Clouds of dust float in the sky as it settles into the rock formation and the pilot steps out to retrieve the Mandalorian. You know that the man who has just declared his love for you could run, he doesn’t.

Once the pilot’s gotten close enough, you say, “I’ve taken his only weapon, so he’s unarmed,” raising the blaster in your hand. 

The pilot nods and walks past you with a set of actual binders. After locking them in, the Mandalorian not making a fuss at all, the pilot beckons for you to follow him back to the TIE.

“No,” you finally answer. 

The pilot looks back at you, confused. 

You raise the blaster and fire before you can change your mind. The hole in his head spurts out blood, but you could care less. A second shot shoots into his mouth and the third nudges itself through his heart, all before his body can even cripple to the ground. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, idiot,” you say. You stand over his body, examining the blaster wounds. You’re not one to check your marksmanship, but wedge the heel of your boot through his throat for good measure.

“You know he’s dead, he can’t answer you.”

“Oh, tell me what I don’t know. Of course he’s dead, I killed him.”

“That was gruesome.”

“It was to save your life, ungrateful shit. It had to be gruesome. I’m retiring from killing now.”

“You realize we’re going to be on the run for what’s probably going to be the rest of our lives now, right?”

“That’s irrelevant, Din. What the hell happened to ‘I can’t live with you,’ huh?”

You don’t wait for a response and walk toward the TIE. You’d have to reroute it and check for trackers to disable, but it’d be fine. Din was safe and that was all that could ever matter.

“Get in.”

“Does this mean you love me?”

You roll your eyes, but that doesn’t stop your lips from twisting into a genuine smile. “Yes, Din, I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> please drop a Kudos or a comment if you liked this :)


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